‘Monrovia, Indiana’ is a strange portrait of active stagnation

Exactly 1,063 people live in Monrovia, Indiana, according to the 2010 census, and 97-percent of them identify as Caucasian. Many of those faces populate Frederick Wiseman’s latest observational documentary, which imbeds itself in the rituals and rhythms of a faith-based community resisting change with every fiber of its being. City officials speak negatively about housing expansion plans while church sermons are dominated by self-inflicted religious guilt.

Beginning with countless wide-angle shots of farmland and rolling plains, Monrovia, Indiana transitions to the cramped spaces of rural society. Pigs are rounded up and sprayed with red paint, then loaded onto a massive truck bound for the slaughterhouse. Local students roam the hallways of their school, passing by trophy cases littered with relics of past glories.

One passionate teacher tries to impart the importance of Monrovia (High School) to college basketball history, as many local gymnasiums are named after legendary player and coach Branch McCracken. As Wiseman’s camera scans the room, most of the teenagers look completely lost, unsure of why any of this information is relevant to their lives.

Ironically, most of the adults in this film define their entire lives based on strict tradition. There’s the elaborate Freemasons ceremony for one member who’s celebrating his 50th anniversary, which features multiple speeches with painfully awkward stumbles. Lion’s Club members strategically discuss where to place their latest park bench. That bench is a symbol for restfulness in a town that barely seems to be crawling forward.

County municipality meetings offer something closer to tense discourse. Council members spar over rules and regulations pertaining to the aforementioned community development project that has allowed the town’s population to spike. What’s at stake seems to be the very identity of Monrovia which, up to this point, has been bubble wrapped by conservative ideology and isolationism.

In keeping with his patented fly-on-the-wall style, Wiseman refuses to pass judgment on any of the institutions he documents even when many of them represent hierarchies and gender divisions synonymous with classic patriarchy. This is most notable during the eulogy for one deceased woman praised strictly in terms of loyalty and sacrifice to her husband, her identity tied to subservience instead of individuality.

Still, pigeonholing Monrovia as an unthinking hotbed of right-leaning views would be reductive, and Wiseman doesn’t limit his focus to traditional “family values” associations. He spends time in barbershops, liquor stores and even a veterinary clinic with regular people going about their daily lives. In the film’s most gory scene, the classic surgical procedure performed on a Boxer’s tail evokes the ongoing persistence of archaic customs.

Wiseman’s collage of small businesses in action, community meetings, and policy discussions lacks the immediacy of his previous work (National Gallery, Titicut Follies and, most recently, Ex Libres: The New York Public Library). Like any documentarian, he’s beholden to the subjects themselves, and there’s nothing particularly gripping about the town itself. The citizens of Monrovia, Indiana seem to like it that way.

What’s more, as a viewing experience Monrovia, Indiana is decidedly flat. Beyond noticing the confrontational tonal similarities between prickly politicians and religious leaders who use fear to dictate rhetoric, it’s hard to see this depiction of rural Americana as something necessary or singular. Hasn’t the conflict between societal stasis and change been surveyed ad nauseam by the likes of Errol Morris and even Wiseman himself?

Thinking about the modern GOP’s current assault on basic civil rights, and their demonization tactics against people of color makes watching Monrovia, Indiana, an even more problematic experience. Wiseman’s apolitical style has never seemed more in need of some propulsive activism.

Admittedly, though, Monrovia, Indiana (opening Friday, Nov. 23 at Digital Gym Cinema) is not about advocacy, inclusion or anything resembling the progressive course of modern America. The citizens of Monrovia might as well be on another planet. By contrast, it’s striking to remember the pure diversity and energy that fueled Wiseman’s previous film. One thing is for sure, we’re not In Jackson Heights anymore, Toto.